


Its okay, You tried

by Ginger_Spice



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst, BAMF Castiel, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Castiel is "Human", Dying Dean Winchester, Fallen Angels, Heaven, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Other, Regretful Dean, Sad Ending, Suffering Castiel, Wingfic, Wings, basically no grace, but my idea of human is different, but you still have wings, i never got that part, isnt that a physical part of him?, or metaphysical wtf ever?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7358632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginger_Spice/pseuds/Ginger_Spice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A piece I thought of as an alternate to what we see from s05e04 where we see everyone die. Just because its an alternate, however, does not mean its any less of a saddening end. I wanted to flesh out End Cas and End Dean's relationship a bit more, but with some angst.<br/>Because I love me some angst.<br/>Just a small scene for my first fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Its okay, You tried

Pain.

Red hot, all over.

He’s never felt pain before, not quite like this. It never trickled down into every vein, until it throbbed like a racehorse could run. Not in the beginning, when he fell and experienced his first slice into flesh, or even when he realized his siblings had closed heaven, leaving him and the humans to fend for themselves. Not like the first pang of fear he felt when the Croatians came in a swarm, surrounding their party and separating him from the party of people he so loved for months. The intensity was nothing like being able to finally feel living hands grip the back of his shoulder's tightly, before they left just as quickly. It was not even like the pain of a demon ripping into his grace as he pulled a restless, dimming soul from the gates of hell.  
This is pain in its truest form. This is worse than anything he's ever heard of.

Because this pain, he shares.  
This is his death.

His breath comes out shallow and strained, as his lungs work against the rouge-brown ground, his hands underneath his stomach now stained crimson. With a mix between a loud grunt and whimper, he strains to pull himself up from the ground, until stars color his vision not unlike the patterns his own grace used to create for him. It’s too much, and he falls with a moan to the ground. So this is what it’s like to die. He chuckles darkly to himself, something he’s used to doing by now. This time, its not drug-induced happy giggling. He has had brushes with death before, even before he was human. Angel blades weren’t hard to come by if all of heaven is after your ass, after all. 

He breathes deeply through his nose and rolls over onto his back, immense pain shooting up his stomach and ribs. He fights through it, gritting his teeth. If he’s going to die, he’s going to die with his home's light behind his eyelids. For the first time, he is able to see through the anguish, and feel a cool breeze caressing the side of his stressed features. There are crickets starting to chirp, and he can hear the trees shift through the sluggish wind. There is no far off groan of Croatians, nor does he hear the footfall of predators. In all the chaos of the world, this night is peaceful. Above him, stars glimmer unabashedly. Galaxies spread across his vision, and the hum of the universe puts him at a false ease.   
There is peace.  
A sad smile forms over his bloodstained teeth, and he begins to muse if his siblings are looking down at him at this moment. Perhaps they were looking down through the clouds at their meek, good-for-nothing brother. Had they granted him this to show forgiveness? Or perhaps pity?  
Who was he kidding, a silent sad sigh ghosting over his lips, freezing in the cool night air. Angels can only feel wrath and love, and they certainly did not love him now. Not as he lay painted in the sand, the grace of his brethren staining his fingertips and his wings tattered from his fall.

Wings. He was an angel.

That thought hadn’t occurred to him in quite awhile. He may have lost his grace, but he still had the part of him that most people would recognize as angelic; his wings.  
With a groan of effort, he materialized his wings behind him on the ground, tearing through the fabric of his shirt. They were a small set of three black and blue feathers, built for speed and normally something to boast about. But since his fall, they had been torn and ratty, exposing a long ragged scar where a fourth wing could have been. His once divine and sublime wings were nothing but twisted coat hanger, and hardly useful now dunked into a sluggish pool of crimson. It had been a few centuries since he had allowed his wings to shift into the physical world, but it was now or never, he supposed. 

Again he shifted his weight, teeth squeaking with strain, and lay on his stomach setting, to work his wings. They weakly fluttered under his weight, his stomach barely leaving the ground, and he hissed at the strain in his back. His lack of feathers cutting straight through the air, barely pushing through. He sighed in defeat, letting his wings drop to the ground and slowly his eyes became heavier and heavier.  
Surely this was pitiful enough to have some effect on the angels.

After all his struggles, after everything he gave up, he’s going to die here and now, never to know if they managed to kill Lucifer. After killing so many of his own kind, after rebelling against his family, he’s going to die knowing they were right. He stifled a sob as it traveled up the back of his throat, bubbling behind his eyes.  
Everyone is gone. Bodies were littered around him, and he hesitated to even try and see who had fallen beside him. His brothers and sisters who once stood beside him are gone. Uriel, his best friend, betrayed him and tried to kill him. Anna probably didn't care for him anymore, Samandriel was most likely brainwashed into thinking he was defying God, and Sam was as good as dead by now. Even Dea-  


His eyes flew open.  
Dean.  
Dean was supposed to go after Lucifer. Dean could have killed Lucifer. Dean… Dean could be alive. Dean could have escaped. Dean could need him. Dean could be out there. He has Dean left. Dean. Dean. 

Dean.

With renewed vigor, his wings snapped above him in a ready stance, and his positioned his left hand beside his head and his right hand on the wounds in his stomach. His wings heaved against the air, his hand pushing against the ground with an almighty thrust. With a pained cry, he was able to sit back on his knees and take a deep breath of air. Ignoring the stinging in his chest and fluttering his wings, he pushed himself onto his feet, and stood hunched on the ground, clutching his abdomen.  
His eyes refused to search the ground for what may lay to find him there, instead, he brought his vision to the roof of the mansion. 

Dean.

Dean. 

Closing his eyes, and breathing out slowly, he put his wings to work. He forcibly pushed against the air, stirring the dirt around him. Lifting his legs to limit drag, he maneuvered himself to hover over the ground. Broken and bent feathers began trailing down to the ground as he fought to keep himself airborne. He angled himself to the direction of the mansion, and spread his wings farther with every beat. His ribcage crackling with effort, his wings screaming in protest, he extended his wings to their fullest and began to glide with an exhausted sigh. He threw himself forward onto the wall with a yelp, where his torso made contact with the edge of the roof. With a pained groan, he began to heave himself up the rooftop. As his last knee made it over the edge, he collapsed to the side, curling up onto himself. His wings curled up around him in a cocoon, as if to block out the smoldering in his torso and his vision began to swim. 

It was suddenly very cold.

“…C… Cas…?”

With a deep intake of breath, Castiel pushed his now useless wings aside and tiredly swiveled his head side to side, taking in the scene around him. Lucifer was nowhere in sight, and the footprints leading back to the mansion made it very clear he was still alive.  
Damnit.

But just beyond the furthest point the footprints stopped, sat a man, huddled in on himself against a stone, breathing raggedly against the liquid slowly filling his loungs. His eyes squinted through the dark, his legs laid out before him crooked and unmoving. Castiel, a small sound emitting from him, began to slowly crawl towards the figure, trying half-heartedly to struggle to his feet. He rasped out every breath, his vision creating a watercolor of the man.

“Cas…Castiel…is that you?”  
Castiel opened his mouth, as if to speak, but the only thing that came from him was a wheeze, as his lungs strained against the stress of his muscles as he dragged himself. 

“Hey… Cas… come on man…”  
Dean sat up slowly with a gasp as he released his wound, his hand reaching out. Castiel managed to crawl his way over to Dean’s side, and flopped down with an exhausted sigh. He closed his eyes and his head lolled back at the release, and he gulped several deep breaths. Tired, guilty eyes fell upon him as he shifted his gaze towards Dean, and for a moment he felt no pain.

Those eyes, even in death they sparkled. 

“H-hey.. you…you okay?” Dean gazed languidly at Castiel, his eyes flicking to his stomach wound, wincing. 

“…I… No…”Castiel huffed darkly with a slight grin, his head falling to his chest in defeat. His wings curled around himself subconsciously, and he reveled in their fading warmth. Dean squinted half heartedly,

“Are you high?” Castiel pulled his head back, pressed his lips into a fine line and blinked slowly,

“…Not anymore.”

Dean swallowed and leaned his head back, taking in the silence. Above him, night sky glimmered brightly, as if the world hadn’t fallen into ruin. The twinkling of the stars lulled him into an ironic sense of security. Surely stars had something to do with heaven, right? Stupid goddamn angels, probably laughing at him right now. Probably talking shit about how stupid Michael’s vessel was to not give consent. God, the self-pity would kill him before his own wounds.

“It is common knowledge… as an angel… that we do not have an… afterlife. That was always intended… for those with… souls.” Began Castiel, as he stared out into the night sky. He pressed his shoulder into Dean’s and wrapped a wing around him, acting as a blanket. Dean gazed stupidly at the wing wrapped around him, it's dark feathers reflecting shades of cerulean. Despite the raggedness of the feathers, they gave off a sense of regality that Dean had never experienced in his gritty lifestyle.

Damn angel, even in death he was beautiful.

He looked over at Castiel, his eyes downcast. Still gazing at the sky, Castiel continued,  
“However… there was a rumor… that spread… I blame Gabriel… that when an angel dies, they… find themselves among the ranks… of stars…” he drifted off, his eyes growing heavy  
“I think I’d like to believe him…” Castiel huddled further into Dean, the warmth of his wings no longer aiding him. He smiled softly, comfortable.  
Dean took in a stuttering breath and gulped. He cupped his face and wiped down at his eyes,

“Cas… man… damnit… I’m sorry. I’m so god damn stupid. I can’t… I’m an idiot. I just threw you in the fray knowing… I’ve screwed everything up. You didn’t stand a chance,”

“Shh.. its okay…” Castiel mumbled tiredly against the Dean’s jacket, his head lolling onto his shoulder. The normal dirt and mud that caked his clothing acting as a cushion. Dean looked back up at the sky, blinking to hold back a flood that threatened to break.

“No, no it’s not okay. I just marched you and everybody else knowingly into a death trap. I thought it'd be for "the greater good" and all that bullshit. I think... I was just being selfish and trying to prove that I was right. I’m such an idiot… You’ve been there for me thick and thin. You’ve saved my life countless times, again and again and again. You pulled me from friggin’ hell for crying out loud. You gave up your life on heaven just so you could help… Sam… Sam and I try to figure this whole mess out. I-I, shit. I love you man, and yet I ruined everything for you. I just- I wish...”

Dean stopped, composing himself and caught himself looking away from Castiel, to avoid his malicious gaze. 

“…I forgive…you…” Castiel lowered his eyelids, smiling despite himself.

Dean started, shaking his head, “I don’t deserve your forgiveness; I should’ve said yes. I should have consented. At least some people would be alive. At least you would still be an angel, at least we would have something after all of this. I’m an idiot and okay dying knowing that…”

“…Mmmm…”

“I guess self-pity doesn’t change anything, does it." A soft breeze filtered through the trees, ruffling Dean's hair and shifting Castiel's feathers. Dean unashamedly huddled underneath them, their softness pleasing. A pause stretched between them, and Dean felt himself become tired. 

“…Are these your wings? I don't think I've..."

“Cas?”

“…Cas…?”

Above him, a new star twinkled happy and bright.

**Author's Note:**

> So... that's my first fanfic ever, and un-betad. I think that's what that means, when you haven't had another eye to look at it yet. I've never written one before, nor have I ever posted any of my writing to any website, so this will be interesting. Roast it in the comments. Honestly, I can take it, and I need criticism. I want you to turn up that flame, tie me to a spit and let me bake until I'm well done. Do it. I dare you.


End file.
